


The Crane and the Garden Master

by Corinne K (Corinne_K)



Series: Borrowed Scenery [2]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Edo Period, M/M, Mild Kink, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 12:07:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7102630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corinne_K/pseuds/Corinne%20K
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A garden master who can see the dead. A curious shinigami on his first mission to the world of the living. A garden in the making.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Crane and the Garden Master

**Author's Note:**

> This is a side story to Borrowed Scenery (also posted on AO3) and picks up on an innuendo left in its chapter 4 (although it can be read on its own). As in that chapter, all persons are fictitious, but inspiration was drawn from the beautiful Konchi-in garden, in Kyoto, and a line attributed to its creator (Kobori Enshu): "When it snows, set a red blossom in a vase."

 

I

The last snow of the winter took the city in its arms. Soon it would be water on stone, but for some fleeting hours, roofs, temples, gardens, all donned its feisty robes.

Sōsuke stepped through the manor's gate into the inhospitable outside. He had been instructing a young lord in the way of tea and now realized the day had gone by too swiftly. It was dark.

Lantern in hand, he made his way home, a temporary dwelling in the city, humble in comparison to his estate in the countryside. He would remain in Heian-Kyo, the imperial capital, until the works for the new garden he had conceived were set on track.

Sōsuke had always sought beauty more than anything else. He was drawn to the grace of simple things and made it his life project to seek it – in the manipulation of nature, in the creation of spaces for human enjoyment, in rituals that free the mind, awaken the senses. In his years of maturity, he had become reclusive and lonesome, but in his own way, contented.

He had aged gracefully and maintained a lean shape that flattered his compact body. He wore his long graying hair in a topknot and had long stopped shaving his bangs. His eyes were the shape of almonds, his eyebrows expressive, cheekbones high and stern. A quintessential _yamato_ , if ever there was such a race.

Remembering that he would soon need to plan his return to the countryside, despite the snow, he took a detour to check on the garden-to-be. The grounds were situated at the end of a narrow lane flanked by walled properties. 

He reached the gate and glanced into the dark inside. The basic layout was visible and the paths had recently been cleared of snow. The main building was in good progress, next to the tea house that still doubled as his workshop. Some materials had been brought to the grounds - stone lanterns and boulders of varying shapes and sizes. The air was chill and damp. It would soon be a good time for moss to grow. A week perhaps, to get all threads going. He would make arrangements first thing next morning.

He was about to leave as an unnatural gust of wind and a series of muffled rasps stopped him. The sound seemed to dance in the air, with no particular origin. He glanced up, around, and down to the frosted pavement. The glow of the lantern hit two small shapes, red against the snow. 'Red blossoms', he mused.

He looked up to the tree branch that hovered directly above him. There, he saw a slender figure dressed in black. By his almost translucence against the tree trunk, Sōsuke could tell he was one of those folk from the underworld. He had seen them in times past - swords in hand, dashing through the rooftops, chasing thunder - but never as clearly as this youth of fair skin and a gentle face framed in white. His chest weaved. There was the origin of the sound. An ailing god.

"Kami-sama, please accept a warm drink and a shelter for the night."

He shifted, startled. Hand still covering his mouth, he scanned the area and met Sōsuke’s gaze. He began to intone the words of some incantation while jumping off the tree. He landed face to face with Sōsuke.

"I insist. If your condition worsens and you perish by my door it will be a bad omen for these grounds."

His index and middle finger were on the way to the man’s forehead, but stalled at those words. The bluish glow on his fingertips died down.

"I apologize for bringing ill fortune to your property. I shall accept your hospitality." – he finally replied. "I am called Ukitake Jūshirō, what may I call you?"

"I am but a humble gardener. You may call me Sōsuke."

"Pleased to meet you Sōsuke-san.”

“Please to meet you, Kami-sama.”

“I am but the bearer of a shadow of god, please address me by my name.”

“A shadow… what could that be?”

“I am a shinigami.”

" _Shini-gami_. There is a tragic grace to the word. I shall address you that way."

The man opened the gate and Jūshirō followed the light of the lantern through the snow, until they reached the tea house.

"My apologies for the simple dwelling, but this is but a workshop of mine. Would you care for some tea? I will start a fire, make yourself comfortable."

The main room, of four and a half mats, was not small but slightly cluttered with scrolls and other objects. In the middle there was a sunken hearth with the usual utensils for tea making.

Jūshirō sat quietly at first, but then the discomfort in his lungs became impossible to bear and he let out a small cough. Confined to the interior of the hut, his contours had stabilized and Sōsuke no longer saw a translucent being, but a lovely emerald-eyed youth. He frowned at his predicament.

"Would you accept to cover yourself with a blanket, while we leave your clothes to dry?"

With a tilt of the head and a light blush to the cheeks, Jūshirō began to remove his drenched clothes, layer by layer, and accepted the kilted cover that the garden master draped over his shoulders, wrapping himself in it.

They sat around the hearth. Sōsuke laid out all the utensils while waiting for the water to boil and cool down to the appropriate temperature. Then, he rinsed and dried the bowls, and ladled well measured portions of powder and water into them. With brisk, precise movements, he whisked the mix into a jade-colored froth.

"This is heavenly, Sōsuke-san” – he praised as he brought the bowl to his lips. “I am honored to be your guest."

"It's my pleasure Shinigami-sama. Your presence is most alluring to an old aesthete."

Jūshirō brought the tea bowl to his lips once more, hiding his shyness. The old man smiled.

"Do you like gardens Shinigami-sama?"

"I do. One day I would like to keep one myself. Perhaps with a pond. I am quite fond of fish."

"I see. You won't like my gardens then."

"You don't like fish?"

"I create dry gardens, with gravel for water."

"I have heard of them, but I have never seen one."

 "If you stay long enough, you will see one here. Of course, there will be other features in the adjacent grounds." 

"Like ponds?"

"Yes, there will be ponds."

They exchanged yet one more smile, Sōsuke slowly growing fond of the deity’s playful shyness.

"Will you go home after tea?"

"Would you like my company?"

"I would like to know more about your gardens."

Sōsuke went to the corner, where a pile of utensils lay, and took out a large scroll.

"Here, this is the plan."

Sōsuke's elegant brush strokes emerged from the document, fine and precise, indicating where gravel, stones and trees would be. They examined it together, Sōsuke proudly explaining the myths and stories behind each element, Jūshirō following up with enquiries. As they leaned over the plan, their breaths mingled in the warmth of the fire.

The conversation rolled gently, so that not too little, not too much, was spoken in that first encounter. Jūshirō would cough at times. Sōsuke hesitated, but finally allowed himself to press a hand between his shoulder blades and gently rub. He wondered, could the shinigami feel this touch? Was it of any comfort? What matter was he made of? His body felt solid, flesh and bone, but sometimes he seemed to blend and disappear in the glow of the lantern.

Early morning Jūshirō woke up alone in the garden master's workshop. He had a small round pillow supporting his neck and an extra cover laid over his body. There were fresh embers in the fire and his clothes were folded neatly by his side. A sheet of paper folded in two lay on the pile of clothes.

"Crimson against white snow

A singular kind of beauty blossoms

Under the lantern light”

 

II

Sōsuke sat in silence in his room. He had walked back with the first rays of dawn, drunk with thoughts of the supernatural encounter. The pure white of the god’s hair, his soft intelligent voice, the dance of loose fabric revealing muscled calves, arching vertebrae, the enticing wedge of a naked shoulder. It was a ‘singular kind of beauty’, indeed. 

As dawn matured into morning, Sōsuke went about his affairs – summoning servants, sending instructions to the garden builders and organizing his upcoming return to his home estate.

His thoughts of the shinigami remained vivid. However, as the day rolled by, those blissful memories somehow began to mutate, escaping the comfort zone of aesthetic appreciation. Without realizing it, Sōsuke was longing. His long idling libido, reawakened.

At night, as he trailed down the same path, coming from his duties at the lord's manor, he battled a soaring anxiety. The night was cool and clear, a star-peppered sky. As he arrived at the gate, he scanned all the tree branches above, looking for a bright white head. None in sight. Was he fighting somewhere? Had he found another place to dwell?

He waited. As time passed by, he began to indulge in self-pity - why would a stunning deity go back to see an old hermit in his austere workshop? He shook off the creeping feeling and decided enough was enough. He took one step, the one step that would lead him away from the garden for the night. As he took a second step, a gust of wind hit him, and a hand fell on his shoulder.

"I am sorry garden master, I hesitated."

Sōsuke was left breathless. For a moment he just bathed in the light of those green eyes, so close, so bright. Then, he opened the gate and led the shinigami into the grounds. 

They were half way through tea when Sōsuke mentioned his impending departure to the countryside. The date roughly coincided with Jūshirō’s scheduled return to Soul Society, making it impossible for them to watch the finalized garden together. They sipped away in silence, but Sōsuke had an idea brewing in his mind.

“Shinigami-sama, do you really want to see the garden?”

Jūshirō shot him a curious look.

“I need you to lie down on your back. Yes, there by the fire. Please wait a moment.”

There were indistinct noises in the adjacent storage room. Moments later, Sōsuke came out with a wooden bucket in hand. Jūshiro craned his neck to peek but Sōsuke pinned him down.

“Patience, shinigami-sama. Now, would you allow me...?”

He slid his finger between the folds of Jūshirō’s kosode and began to undo the ties. He pulled the fabric away from the young man’s shoulders and bared his torso. He glanced sideways and decided the legs should be bent, so he pulled them by the knees, bringing feet to tights.

“Sublime.”

Jūshirō titled his head back, looking for the man behind him, his eyes eager and even brighter.

Sōsuke dipped his hand in the wooden pale and stirred. A grinding sound preceded the emergence of a handful of pebbles. One by one, Sōsuke proceeded to place them in clusters along the ribcage, over the edge of the flat stomach. Jūshirō erupted in goose bumps at the feel of cold stones on skin. The man gave a contempt smirk, then took out a larger stone and placed it on the right side of the shinigami’s abdomen. 

“Now you have the island of immortals on your immortal body… oh, yes, there is a tree…”

From the bucket came a dried sakura branch, no larger than a palm. He held it above Jūshirō’s face, amused with the movements of his curious orbs. He giggled when the branch rubbed the tip of his nose. After trailing lips, chin and neck, it came to rest above the large stone.

“Can you see how the garden blends into the mountain? So perfect…”

“Garden master...”

“Now, of course, we need a vantage point from which to worship the garden. Let us add two.”

And out came two flat pebbles, the size of coins. Jūshirō followed the path of the first as it crossed the air above him, hovering close to his neck, over his sternum and painfully close to the surface of a nipple.

Sōsuke’s expression had changed. This was no longer about the garden. He held the stone as it touched the pink bud, circled around it, nudged it on both sides. By the time he stopped and laid the pebble down, all the area around it was stiff and flushed, Jūshirō’s eyes had closed and his mouth had slacked open. The other pebble followed the same path.

“Oh, it’s almost finished. What do you think, Shinigami-sama? Your chest as a garden, your body as a landscape… There is only one step left. Will you allow me? Allow me to rake through the sea of gravel?”

“Please do, garden master.” His voice was heavy, his eyes no longer dared to open.

And in came Sōsuke’s nails. They were well groomed and blunt, but the master carved them deep. The shapes of circles and parallel lines irradiated red on pale skin.

“Open your eyes now, my garden.”

“Sōsuke…”

At the sound of his name, as if in fury, he wiped everything away, pebbles rolling from the trembling frame, down to the tatami. He plunged his face in the reddened chest, over the lines of his aggression, and he cried. 

Taking a deep breath, Jūshirō placed a palm on Sōsuke’s shoulder and pushed up. He brought himself upright and pushed the man an arm’s length in front of him. Sōsuke’s weeping slur of apologies came to a halt, as Jūshirō enquired-

"What do you wish of me, garden master?" 

He was disheveled, his short hair in a mess, his chest red and abused, his eyes haunted. The man gave it a moment’s consideration, then, suddenly sobered, he answered-

"I wish nothing but to claim your beauty by my brush."

 

III

“I am afraid I can’t let you keep any record of my existence.”

“So I shall have to destroy it.”

And so it was. For six days the shinigami returned to the garden master’s workshop. Every afternoon, in anticipation of his arrival, Sōsuke would study the light, open and close windows, arrange the nest where he would have his model sit, kneel, lie. He would bring different fabrics to drape over his body, clips for his hair, cushions for his comfort.

At the end of each session, they would appreciate Sōsuke’s work while drinking tea, and then feed it to the embers in the hearth.

The seventh session was due to be their last. Sōsuke carefully laid out his brushes on a tray. He opened a window, then laid a pale blue silk, of one meter by two, artfully crumpled on the mat. He would ask for a nude. It was as far as he dared to go. To see the deity’s slender figure laid bare for his hand to sketch, for his brush to capture. He waited.

The shinigami did not come. Late at night, once again with methodic care, he kept his utensils in storage, folded the silken fabric, closed the window and left.

For three lonely months, Sōsuke lived in his estate. He would post instructions to the workers in the garden, but refused to set foot on the grounds. The affairs of the lands under his domain kept him busy, and he did not engage in any artistic work - safe for one piece.

It had come to him in his sleep one night. He drew the outline from memory in the morning: a flying crane, wings spread and long neck cutting the wind. Then, he tainted the background blue, a color that resembled the silk the had wanted to use that night.

It took him a few more days to perfect the painting, work on shading and outlining. When it was done, he sent word to Heian-Kyo that he would be arriving soon, to oversee the wrapping-up of works in the garden.

His arrival caused a stir. He announced that all should be completed within two weeks. Works went on, night and day, without protest from the men, and the garden was done within the short period. On the final day, Sōsuke sent off the workers and closed the gates, remaining alone within the grounds.

Spring was on the verge of melting into Summer, warm breeze rolling in. He stood at the edge of the gravel, observing the beautiful blend of white and green, garden and mountain. He thought of the crude simulation he had done on the shinigami’s chest, and dismissed it as a moment of insanity. He was contented once again. He took off his slippers and tabi and stepped on the gravel, to feel its sting rise up all the way to his neck.

As he closed his eyes, a silken voice came riding the wind.

“I am no longer the garden. I am glad.”

A hand wrapped his, the warm mass of a body neared behind him.

“Where are you? Why can’t I see you?”

“Because your eyes do not seek me.”

“That is not true.”

“Is it sight you seek? Wouldn’t the sense of touch please you more?” 

“You tease me.”

A light huff of breath passed by like a chuckle near his earlobe. As one hand kept holding Sōsuke’s, the other found his hair and untied his topknot. The strands tensed and rustled from root to tip, as if combed by invisible fingers. A tickling light touch rose to his temples, made its way around his face.

This was revenge, he realized. And he deserved it – for reducing the shinigami to an object of aesthetic appreciation, for denying his own desire, for teasing without giving. Yes, he had teased, but how could he ever know that he too was desired? Him, with his graying hair and plain looks. It was inconceivable.

He closed his eyes, reached for the body that held him. He found thin hair strands and caressed them, found the nape of the neck and pulled it down. A warm breath came as a warning, right before he felt his lips touched, parted, invaded. 

“Why didn’t you come that night?” Sōsuke asked, breaking for breath. 

“I had to fight.”

“Are you alright?”

He was kissed again - harder, deeper. His body reacted. He was a mature man, his flesh no longer plump with youth. He was self-conscious of baring it. But soon his upper robes were peeled like the skin of ripe peaches, invisible hands rubbed up and down his flanks, an invisible body grinding against his core. 

“Jūshiro!” he moaned.

“Open your eyes.”

Finally, not as clearly as before, but he could see him. He had his arms around his waist, pressing their hips together. He had a familiar smile on his face, but the innocence he had seen on their first encounters had been replaced by a different sort of intent. He had seen things, done things, and he knew what he wanted. It made his presence even more enticing for the old man.

Then, without warning, the shinigami slid down to his knees and tugged at the man’s belt with his teeth.

“Not here… pebbles… hard… Let’s go somewhere else… the tea house…” the garden master pleaded. The shinigami looked up.

“No. Take me to the pond. I wish to lie by the water.”

Sōsuke pulled him to his feet once again and brought him by the hand through the garden. Still high, still breathless, they shed their remaining robes along the stone path. An afternoon glow planted shades on their bare skins as they walked.

Nearing the pond, Jūshiro broke free of the garden master’s grip and skipped to the water. He dipped the tip of a foot, then retreated a few steps, hugging his torso and shivering a little.

Sōsuke smiled, shook his head, to which the other shrugged and laughed. Sōsuke wrapped his arms around him, despite the difference in stature. His hands travelled through the thin frame. They were now caressing each other willingly, bilaterally. They kissed, and their arousal soared once again.

They took a moment to study each other. Then, tentatively, gently, Sōsuke laid his hand on the shinigami’s shoulder and pressed down. Without resistance he bent. His knees and elbows came to rest on a bed of fresh moss. He seemed to like the feeling, as he gave out a low purr and looked over the shoulder to the other man.

Taking it as an invitation, the garden master plowed into him. He trembled and whimpered a little as he was taken without warning. Sōsuke was beginning to panic as a husky voice reassured him-

“I’m fine. Touch me.”

And so he did. The rhythm of his hips came in sync with the rhythm of his hand. Both became faster, rougher, as the fever rose in him. Trees and stones spun wildly, the wind dried his mouth, his breath quickened.

A body made of soul matter, but still it felt as warm as human flesh. And now Sōsuke was certain - he could feel. He could feel pain, comfort and pleasure inflicted by a human. The shinigami trembled and moaned underneath him and his semen was warm and plenty. A fallen deity in his arms. That very thought was the final blow and Sōsuke came.

As he softened and slid out, the shinigami took his mouth in a kiss, then held his face between his hands, looking into his eyes, beaming as if oblivious to the complexities of what they had done.

For a while they lay on the bed of moss, in each other’s arms. Then, Jūshirō rolled over to face the water. Sōsuke grunted at the loss of contact, but soon his jaw dropped. He cursed not being able to sketch him right there and then.

Head resting on a shoulder, pale torso slightly curved sideways along the line of water, the tip of a foot dipped in the pond. The white crane in all its glory.

“Look, a turtle!” he said, pointing to the other side of the water. Sōsuke looked, startled. He rose his torso to investigate, as he was fairly certain the animals had not been brought in yet.

By the time he lowered his gaze, Jūshiro was there no more.

 

IV 

“Welcome back.”

“I’m… home.”

“Have you any idea how grumpy the old man has been without his star student? Had to remind him every day you were on a mission…”

“You know my mission ended three months ago, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“And yet you covered up for me…”

“Never mind that. How’s the human world like?”

“Wide, beautiful. Cities are bustling, mountains are lonely, people are intriguing. I could get lost... Will you pull me back if I lose myself one day?”

“Shh… Just give me a kiss, you naughty boy.”


End file.
